


cast your eyes on the ocean (cast your soul to the sea)

by hellstrider



Series: Dante's Prayer [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Be careful my loves, Biting, Blood Kink, Body Worship, Divinity, General worship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, Magic, No Character Death, Possessive Sex, Sex, Songfic, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Upside-Down mythology, Witch!Billy's mom, Zombies came from the Upside-Down, no death tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: it's the end, isn't it?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Dante's Prayer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574149
Comments: 18
Kudos: 173





	1. when the dark night seems endless (please remember me)

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW this one,,, is one of my favorite things i've ever written, i did it at the behest of !!!! my wifey and muse, lauren, who wanted a zombie fic where steve got bitten,
> 
> and somehow my witch fingers got all over this one too lmfao
> 
> title from dante's prayer by loreena mckennitt, absolutely would recommend listening to it when it's just billy and steve alone, it made me sob like a baby,
> 
> enjoy xoxo  
tumblr: billyhargrovens

_“Steve!”_

But Max’s scream comes _too late_, 

And Billy’s_ too far away_, too _slow,_ _too fucking_ \- fucking _weak, _and he’s_ surrounded _by a pack of biters, has got Mike and Will tucked backed up behind him against an empty shelf, and they’re both trembling and _shouting, _weaponless, 

And Steve –

_Steve,_

Steve goes _down,_

Under a huge, _huge _fucking biter in tattered biker leathers, and his spiked bat goes skittering across the bloodied linoleum of the wrecked supermarket,_ and,_

It’s as if someone’s _punched _through Billy’s gut, has punched through his _skin_, his _muscle,_ dug through his intestines to reach his spine, and the _roar_ Billy lets out could shake the broken windows, probably _does,_

And,

_Savage,_ yellow-grey teeth dig into the juncture of Steve’s throat, because the walking dead know _right _where to bite, know where to bite to bury their disease where it’ll spread the fastest, 

Because they’re _smart,_ these fucking _disease-riddled_ things, _smart, _because some assholes in Hawkins, Indiana tried to make super-soldiers to _fight_ the Upside-Down and all they did was _kill _their test subjects only to have the fucking _virus_ they shot into ‘em, the one from the _fucking Upside-Down,_ bring ‘em _right_ back, bring ‘em back _different, _turned inside-out and_ all wrong,_

And the monsters ate their masters, the masters that made ‘em, and then they got out, and the world went red in the space of what felt like a heartbeat,

And they’d survived, their little party, because they’d been fighting this typa shit since they were _kids,_

And they’d _survived,_

But _now -_

_There’s _\- 

There’s a biter _on Steve,_ its foul teeth in Steve’s _neck_, and,

Billy’s body becomes a _weapon, _becomes something _barbaric_, far more barbaric than the rotting corpses around them, and he gives a throttling bellow and cracks through three, four, five skulls with a wicked, gore-coated machete to get to Steve,

_Steve_,

Who’s so bright,

And so beautiful,

Who’s been with Billy since the _beginning_ of this shitshow, when it was just monsters in the woods with faces that opened, 

And they’ve been _inseparable_ since they were sixteen, seventeen, young and _hopeful_, hopeful that they could fight this war and win it before the world bent backwards, and Billy’s _loved Steve_, loved him in terrified _silence_ for _so long_, and now a biter digs into Steve and _the world_ \- the world’s on _fire _in a whole new kinda way,

And Billy’s still _roaring_ with a bloody tongue as he surges towards Steve, and Lucas grabs a fallen piece of wood and breaks it over the back of the biter on him, the biter with its _teeth_ in _Steve’s throat_, and the thing _snarls_, rips its teeth free to round on Sinclair, Steve’s blood _dripping _from its chin, _and,_

Then there’re gunshots, and the roar of an engine rips through Billy’s shouts; the biter with Steve’s blood on its chin is suddenly thrown back by some invisible force, and –

There’s little Jane Hopper, looking _pale _and pallid and _clammy_, blood running from her nose, and then there’s Nancy Wheeler beside her, all steel, all black leather and gun as big as her damn leg, and they’re both standing in the back of the spiked-out truck that was supposed to be their _rescue,_

But it’s _too fucking late,_

And it’s Max who reaches Steve first, falls to her knees next to him as Billy’s entire world goes to fire, as it goes _silent,_ and Steve’s clutching his throat and Max is _sobbing _as Billy hauls her up, hauls his little sister up by the armpits and away from Steve as Nancy finishes off the biters,

“Get her the_ fuck_ outta here, get outta here,_ now!”_ Billy barks at Sinclair, and they’re as old as Billy and Steve were, when this all started, but when he looks at ‘em, at all the kids, he still sees them at ten, eleven, twelve, and his heart’s going supernova and _Steve -_

“Billy,” Max says, frantic, voice comin’ up from underwater, and _all _Billy sees is _Steve,_ hand to his throat, eyes squeezed shut, chest jumping with harsh, _panicked,_ terrified breaths, and -

“Get her _out_, Lucas,” Billy snarls, because Steve’s been_ bitten_ and, 

This is the _end_, isn’t it?

It takes twenty-four hours for the disease to seep through a person, 

So Billy_ knows_ what he’s gotta do, because the turning is _ugly_, and it’s _painful_, and he’d _take_ anything, _do_ anything, to spare Steve _any _kinda pain, but he was too _slow_, too _weak_ this time, and they both _know -_ know what he’s _gotta do, _now,

And Steve’s breathing _hard,_ fast, as he rasps, “_st-stay back, Dustin_, you don’t n-need to see th-this,” and Henderson looks like he’s going into total shock, here in the tattered memory of what used to be a supermarket, where Steve was bitten and Billy was _too far away_, too _slow,_ too _weak_,

And Steve’s been_ bitten_,

And the disease takes _twenty-four hours_,

And the kids decided to run off on a secret supply run on their _own_, because Jane Hopper was _sick_, sick with some kinda flu that just _wouldn’t quit_, and they’d been scouring for meds for a _while_, to no avail, so the little dipshits had gone off on their own,

And Steve and Billy had gone _after _them, gone to bring them _right_ back to the prison that had become their sanctuary somewhere near the sea, _and,_

The radio had needed _batteries_, because _of course_ it did, of course it _crapped out_ when they needed it the _most,_

But,

They’d gotten through to Wheeler, gotten through with a ‘_found the little dipshits_’ and Nancy had laughed wetly on the other end, said, ‘_we’re coming,_’ and it had been sheer _relief_ then, _and Billy_ – Billy had picked the _fucking supermarket_ as the rendezvous, because he’d thought it looked - _looked -_

Safe,

_But,_

Steve got_ bit_, because Billy was _too weak, _because Billy brought them to the fucking supermarket he thought looked _safe, _and there’s red on Steve’s hand, blood seeping between his fingers, splashed on his throat, and Billy _can’t _\- can’t quite fill his lungs, and Steve’s _looking_ at him, looking at him with a grief Billy tastes like seawater, because they both know what Billy has to do,

_I ever get bit, Hargrove -_

_Yeah, yeah. You save a bullet for me, too, Harrington, we both gotta promise,_

And it - it hits Billy _all at once,_ as numb tears drip from his eyes, diamonds that crack open on the bloody floor, and Billy drinks in the sight of Steve, who he’s loved _so fucking long_, and Billy’s only got _one_ bullet left in the gun strapped to his thigh, 

_One fucking bullet_, but _he’s also_ \- also got a _knife_, a knife so sharp it could cut air, because it was better,_ better _to use blades and bats against these fuckers, because guns were_ too loud_,

So the bullet’s meant for _this_, for - for,_ for, _

And the knife’s - the knife is meant for _Billy,_

_And,_

“Maxine,” Billy says, violent, _low,_ and he doesn’t look away from Steve, beautiful and broken on the linoleum at Billy’s feet, and Billy’s a dead man talkin’, _“Max,”_

It’s the _end, isn’t it?_

And,

Billy drags his aching eyes up from Steve’s honey-gold ones, red-rimmed, tear filled, because they both know what Billy’s gonna have to do, and he looks at Lucas, looks at Max, and the world is _so quiet_, so _still,_ because it’s _ending_, ending for a second time, all for _one Billy Hargrove,_

And Billy cups Max’s freckled face between his shaking, _gritty_ hands, presses a fierce kiss to her brow, the _last one,_

And Max’s not _stupid,_

Not like Billy,

_“No,”_ Max sobs, hand fisting in Billy’s torn shirt, “_no,_ no, Billy, _please_, don’t,”

“You _stay good,_ Maxine,” Billy says, and his voice hasn’t ever sounded like this, before, like it’s being _ripped_ outta his throat, “you stay _alive_, you hear me?”

_“Billy -_” Steve snarls, biting, shaky, because he knows what a goodbye without the real words sounds like when he hears one - they _all_ do, now, _“what -”_

_“Billy,_” Max sobs, and Billy bites his bottom lip, tears burning through the grit on his cheeks, and he looks to Lucas, says, “you keep her _whole_, Sinclair, or I’ll come back, claw my way outta the dirt and _kick your ass,”_

_“Hargrove,_” and Steve sounds _wrecked_, and _Billy _\- Billy’s loved him _so fucking long_, and he was too _chickenshit_ to love him out loud, too _weak_ to save him, _and_,

Lucas is crying, too, but he nods, nods shakily, and then he’s pulling Max back, and Billy lets her face slip outta his hands, and Lucas has to put a palm over Max’s mouth as she starts _screaming_, so Sinclair covers her mouth ‘cause she could pull more biters, and Billy doesn’t - _give a shit_, not as long as the others _get the fuck out _first,

Because Steve’s been bit and it’s the _end_, for the _both_ of ‘em, because they _both_ know what Billy _has to do_, and they’re all realizing what he _can’t_ do,

Because what he _has_ to do is put a bullet through Steve, and what he _can’t_ do is live with that, _and,_

“Billy,” Steve pleads, “_Billy,”_

And there wasn’t _one fucking world_, not a _one_, where Billy lived while Steve died - none of ‘em. There wasn’t one world where Billy Hargrove didn’t die right beside Steve Harrington, not a one, _so_,

Billy meets Nancy’s gaze through the huge, empty window bays in the front of the supermarket, as Lucas drags Max towards the broken doors, as Mike and Will pull Dustin away from Steve, and everything is _slow_, so _slow_, and Billy’s heartbeat echoes in his skull, and the anger inside him is a _hurricane _\- the anger, the _fear_, the _hopeless emptiness, _

And Billy - Billy gives Wheeler a crooked smile and a salute, an order to _move the fuck on_, a _thanks for trying_ kinda thing, and Nancy’s breathing hard, muscle ticking in her jaw, because they all know what Billy_ has_ to do, and they _all knew_ what he _couldn’t_ do, and Jane’s huge eyes are bleeding tears, and it’s like they’re at a goddamn _funeral, _and - they_ are_, and,

The engine roars, and,

The silence descends,

As Billy sinks down on his knees beside Steve, and it’s just the two of ‘em, two dead hearts still beating, and they’re surrounded by fake marble and gore, and the anger starts to simmer down to _softness_, into _numbness_, into impossible, _overwhelming_ love, because that’s _all_ Billy’s ever been able to feel when it came to _one Steve Harrington,_

And,

Steve is _so fucking beautiful_, even covered in grit and blood; his chest is hitching with his furious sobs - sharp, _cutting_ things that make Billy’s gut feel as if it’s being twisted up by a metal poker, and when Billy reaches out to stroke over Steve’s cheek, Steve both recoils from his touch and moves _into it,_

Because they both know what he_ has_ to do, what he _can’t _do, and Steve lets out a punching sob, _and Billy’s_ \- Billy’s never been so _keenly_ aware of his heartbeat before, never felt the muscle pumping life through his body like this, ever, not even when the world turned red the first time and all he had time to grab was Maxine and one Steve Harrington,

And,

“C’mere, Bambi,” Billy murmurs, and he gently gathers Steve’s hand away from the bite in the juncture of throat and shoulder, and he _tries not to_ \- not to _look at it,_ “don’t wanna die in this fuckin’ shithole,”

“You’re n-not _dying_,” Steve grits out, “you’re not dying _at all,_ Hargrove, y-you’re such a fucking _drama queen_, you gotta - g-gotta _protect_ those dipshits, okay, _and -”_

Billy helps Steve up to his feet, draws him close, _close,_ even as Steve’s _still rambling,_ spillin’ words that don’t mean _shit_ to Billy, because they _both know_ what he _has _to do, what he _can’t_, and Steve is _shaking_ against Billy’s chest as Billy just - _loses himself_, a bit, as he gazes at Steve, 

And he’s _so fucking -_

“You’re some different kinda gorgeous, Harrington, I ever tell you that?” Billy murmurs, and Steve _swears_, swears and _snarls_,

And,

“You _can’t do this_, Hargrove,”

“Can’t fuckin’ do it _without you_, Harrington,” and,

Billy thumbs over his cheek as Steve fists his trembling hands in Billy’s jacket, dirt-caked and disgusting, and Billy wipes tears and blood away, one arm tight around Steve’s waist, and then Steve’s sliding his palms over the sides of Billy’s neck, _and Billy_ \- Billy’s _loved_ _him in silence_, but he, he _knew_, knew that_ Steve -_

“Please,” Steve whispers, voice mangled, “_don’t do this_, just - _leave me the gun_, Billy, _just -”_

And Billy ghosts his mouth over Steve’s even as he pleads, and even as Steve begs Billy to leave, Steve’s arms snake around his shoulders, ‘cause neither of ‘em will _let go_, can’t, now, not _ever_ again, and Steve drags his mouth over Billy’s cheek, breathes hard and quick in Billy’s ear,

“Wanna go to the ocean, Cherry-bomb,” Billy says, and the anger’s _gone_, and _he’s - _he’s sorta _glad_ for that, because Steve _deserves so much more,_ more than _anything_ in this world, but all Billy can really _give him_ now is _any_ gentleness left inside his shrapnel heart, _and,_

His mama always said going to the sea _could - _could fix _anything,_ and they did, they _always did_, ran away to the sea whenever Neil was more monster than man, _and,_

“Let’s go to the _sea_, baby, _wanna see it_ \- wanna see it one last time, with you,” _and_,

Steve lets out a_ furious_ sob, knocks their sweaty foreheads together, and he’s quivering, holding onto Billy _so_ tight, and Billy nuzzles against the bridge of Steve’s nose,

And they’re two dead men with hearts still beating as they stumble outta the supermarket, the place where Billy Hargrove killed Steve Harrington, where the world _ended_ for a second time,

And Steve’s arm is over Billy’s shoulders, and Billy keeps his own wrapped like steel around Steve’s waist, and like a _miracle_, no biters come at ‘em as they move through the car-littered streets, _onwards,_ onwards, and the prison’s six hours away on foot, but the sea is _right_ \- right _here,_

And it _smells_ like the sea, still, and the _entire world’s_ changed, gone dark and red, but the sea is the_ same_, the same on the east coast as it was on the west, as it was before the biters, as it is after, and there aren’t any bodies on this stretch of beach, just a couple boats left abandoned, and,

Billy pulls Steve into a tiny white house just on the shore, drawn by some force he can’t place, _and it’s_ \- it’s miraculously _clean_, clear of _anything_, and maybe some benevolent god has seen fit to gift them a gentle ending to a brutal existence, because the house is almost untouched, nothing dead or rotting waiting inside,

And,

Steve picks his way through the living room, and there’s a _wide,_ wide window behind a white couch that overlooks the unchanged ocean, and Billy just, takes in the sight of Steve in a pool of moonlight, in this tiny little house, _untouched, _and,

It’ll be their tomb, this place_,_

_But,_

“Coulda had a place like this,” Billy says, stepping down into the little living room, “you and me,”

_“How long?_” Steve asks, voice hoarse, and he looks towards Billy, eyes red, raw, angry, so fucking angry, “how long _have you_ -”

_Loved me,_ hangs on the air, unspoken,

And,

Steve’s jaw clenches, nose wrinkling, and Billy can’t stop the faint smile that pulls at his lips; he sidles across the chasm between them, and Steve tips into his space on instinct with a _harsh_, choking sound gripped between his teeth, and Billy slides his hands over Steve’s waist, counts the flecks of gold in his brown eyes,

“Don’t really remember a time I didn’t,” Billy admits, and Steve laughs, sobs, puts the back of his hand to his mouth, and he’s shaking, shaking and clutching at Billy’s jacket again,

“But there was my _asshole dad_ and the fucking - _monsters_ in the fucking woods, and _Wheeler_, and -” _I was a fucking coward, _Billy thinks, _because you deserved so much - and look at us, look at this,_

“Then the fuckin’ world_ ended_, and I…” Billy bites his lip, shakes his head, “all I cared about was gettin’ you and the little shits _safe,”_

“Nance _told me_,” Steve says, wetly, and Billy’s stomach climbs between his lungs, “told me I should’ve _said_ \- I didn’t,_ I didn’t think -” _

And,

Steve laughs bitterly again as Billy noses over his cheek, slides a hand into Steve’s hair, damp with sweat and blood; he’s feeling like he’s coming apart, feeling as if he’s _unraveling,_ and maybe he is, and the sea crashes into the shore, unaffected by the tragedy playing out in the little house just a stone’s throw away, _and,_

“I thought we had _time,_” Steve groans painfully, voice _thick_ with tears, “_fuck, _Billy_, I_ _thought_ \- we found the prison, and it was - you were _safe_, we were all - and - I thought we had_ time_, to - _fucking remember how to_ \- to fucking_ live,”_

“Never quite figured that shit out, Stevie,” Billy says, “but I’ve been figurin’ out how I wanted to die for a while,”

And then Steve makes a _sound_, a sound that reminds Billy of bone scraping over metal, because they know what that sounds like, now, and then Steve’s bruised lips melt against Billy’s and the _entire world_, even the unchanging sea, _fades,_ fades as Steve licks into his mouth,

And he tastes like copper, like saltwater, like _Steve, _

_And,_

“Wasn’t _ever_ gonna die for anything less than _you_,” Billy breathes against his lips, and Steve’s trembling hands slide to his belt, and Billy pushes Steve’s bloody jacket away as the grief blooms with an_ aching_, agonizing desire, a desire _to just_ \- feel each other for the first time, the _only _time, the _last _time,

And Steve undresses Billy with shaking, _reverent_ hands, slides his fingertips over the rivers and valleys and hills of Billy’s hard-won muscle, kisses down the side of Billy’s throat, breathes out a sob and a soft, “_fuck,_ tiger,” and,

Billy peels Steve outta his bloodied shirt, slides _gentle_, steady hands down the back of Steve’s jeans, noses over his clenchin’ jaw, draws him _close,_ impossibly close, until they’re pressed together _so _tight, and Steve’s so _warm,_ so fucking _warm_, and soon he’ll be _burnin’ _with fever,

And they sink down to the couch, the perfectly white couch, and Billy pulls Steve between his legs, and they’re_ filthy_ and they’re _dead men_ with _hearts still beating_, but there’s _never_ been anything better than this, never been anything better than;

Steve, sliding between Billy’s thighs, mouth chasing the scar that runs from Billy’s hip to the opposite shoulder across his golden skin,

And there’s never been anything _better than_ –

“You’re _so_ beautiful,” Steve breathes, voice_ beyond_ grief-stricken, and Billy’s eyes bleed diamonds as he coaxes Steve up for the kinda kiss that he won’t_ ever_ taste again, ‘cause it’s that dyin’, death-promisin’ shit,

And there’s never been _anything_ better than –

“Wanted you _so long_,” and the words come out like broken glass against Steve’s lips, and Billy’s voice is _so deep_, the _wrong_ kinda deep, and his chest hitches as Steve’s cock slides up against his own, _so_ sweet,_ so_ velvet-soft, steel-hard,

_And,_

There’s _never_ been anything better than_ -_

The way they move together, the way they’re stealin’ the air from each other’s lungs, and the world’s ended, but the sea - the sea’s been absolutely _unchanged_ by it, and suddenly Billy feels a little like that, as Steve rolls his hips, grinds down against him, as Steve kisses him with a goodbye on his tongue; Billy feels a little _endless,_ a little like the unchanging sea, _because,_

Because the world _ended_, but Billy’s loved Steve Harrington for _so fucking long_, and that never changed, not once, not when the world went red,

And it won’t change _after,_

When their world goes _velvet-black,_

‘Cause Billy’s love _never_ faltered, _never _wavered, and it is -_ it is_ like an ocean, this kinda love; _unchangeable_, unbreakable, _unstoppable,_

And,

_Please_, Billy thinks, and _he’s never_ \- he’s _never_ been the _praying type_, but for Steve - for_ Steve,_ he’d be_ anything,_ and Steve curls a hand around the medallion on Billy’s chest, clutches it in his palm as he pants so soft and so sweet against Billy’s tongue, _and,_

_Not him,_

_Fuck, please,_

_I’ll give anything,_

_Just -_

_Don’t,_

_Please,_

_Don’t take him,_

_Please,_

_Not like this,_

_Don’t make me do this,_

And,

Billy_ prays_, prays and _means it_ for the _first fucking time_ in his _entire stupid life_, and his mama always did say that this kinda_ intention_ was the magic that made _miracles,_ and it was the kinda intention borne outta the _deepest_ pits of a soul, the most _desperate_ place, and _Billy_ \- Billy _is_ fucking _desperate_, because he knows what he _has to do_, knows what he _can’t do,_

And Steve deserved a world that burned gold, never red,

_“Stevie,”_ Billy groans, all but _whimpers,_ and Steve slides a hand around the nape of his neck and says, _all _tight, _all _broken, “_right here,_ tiger, _stay with me,_ right here, I’m right here,” and,

_I thought we had time,_

And,

The sea crashes into the shore,

And,

_Let him find me, on the other side,_

_When we -_

_Let him find me,_

And they’re both unraveling now,

Both shakin’ like they’ve got the Upside-Down rippin’ ‘em apart,

And Billy wishes –

Wishes it’d been him,

And he gathers Steve close, so close, ruts up gentle and desperate against him, cock bleeding pre over his belly, and Steve grips his shoulders, holds on like he’s gonna drown if he doesn’t,

And,

_“That’s it,_ Bambi, you feel _so good,_ always_ knew_ you’d feel so good. I fuckin’ _dreamed_ of you, always been dreamin’ of you, it’s _only_ you,”

And Steve comes apart over Billy with a sobbing, _gut-wrenchin’_ peak, and Billy swallows down the _horrible_, tattered, “_Billy_,” that comes off’a his tongue, and then he’s groaning as his hips crest, desperate and greedy, up against Steve, and white fire whips through Billy, curls around the heart that’ll soon be _bled dry_,

And,

_Not him,_

_Please,_

_I’ll give anything,_

And Steve’s, _Steve’s_ \- so _warm_, so _suddenly_, as he goes boneless over Billy, as he whispers, “I’m so fucking _cold_, Billy,” and Billy’s chest is _so_ fucking tight, _so tight_ he thinks he must already be going into mortis, _and,_

He drags the blanket on the back of the couch around them as he kisses down the sticky, gritty side of Steve’s face, murmurin’ utter _nonsense_, and his gun is on the floor, right - _right fucking there_, and Steve puts his face to Billy’s throat as Billy reaches for it, because the pain will start soon, and Billy would do _anything_ to spare Steve that,

Because prayers were empty, _stupid_, hopeless things,

And this world doesn’t know what _miracles_ are,

And Billy _knows_ what he _has to do_, knows what he_ can’t_, 

And,

“Gonna be _right here_ with you, baby,” Billy says, and his voice is_ trembling_ now, stripped so raw, and he didn’t know _people_ _could _\- could _sound like this,_ “gonna stay _right here_, Bambi,” and then,

Steve buries a snarling, ugly sob against Billy’s throat, entire body clenchin’ with it, and Billy slides a hand up to his nape, grips it tight, and,

“_I love you, _Billy,”

“Yeah, I know,”

_“Say it,_”

And Billy’s throat_ aches_ like it’s coming _apart,_ and the safety slips off under his thumb,

_“I love you, Steve Harrington_,” Billy whispers against Steve’s ear, and the ocean inside him is starting to _churn_, starting to bend into itself, and Steve slides his arms around Billy’s neck, presses dry lips to his jaw, and the sea outside their tomb crashes into the shore as a tsunami _rips_ through Billy’s gut, _and,_

“Then you gotta_ live,”_ Steve says,_ rough_, tight, “you gotta _live for me,_ okay? You _gotta - _“

And Billy meets those honey-gold eyes, those honey-gold eyes gone raw and red, and they both fucking know he’s not gonna, they _both _do, and Steve looks like he _hates_ him, a little bit, and he _should_, because Billy _killed him_, back in the supermarket he thought looked _so safe,_

But,

“Okay,” Billy lies, so soft, so ruined, as he sweeps a thumb over Steve’s bottom lip, memorizes the way it gives under the pressure of his touch, “okay, baby, I’ll live,”

And Steve’s nose curls and he lets out a sob, then surges down to catch Billy’s lips in a kiss that threatens to utterly unmake Billy Hargrove entirely, ‘cause Steve tastes like copper and _grief_, like heat and fire and _ice,_

And,

“You’re a _shit _liar, Hargrove,”

“Only when it’s_ you_,” and,

Billy’s breathing like he’s run through fire against Steve’s tongue, and Steve hushes him as tears drip from his clumped lashes, and it’s _wrong_, wrong that Steve is the one comforting_ him, _

‘Cause there’s a bite oozing blood on Steve’s throat, one Billy won’t look at, _hasn’t,_ and he won’t _touch_ it, just skates his palm over Steve’s nape and curls his fingers into his hair, grips it _so tight,_ and Steve whispers, “it’s okay, it’s _okay,_ baby, I _love you,” _and,

_I thought we had time,_

And,

_Thought we had time to learn to live,_

And,

The barrel of the gun is _so _dark, 

And,

_Not him,_

_Don’t make me do this,_

_Please,_

_Anyone,_

_Mama,_

_If you’re out there,_

And,

The tsunami presses up, _up_,

Curls over Billy’s ribs,

Rips through his chest,

Crawls, salty and burning, into his ruined throat,

And his hand is _shaking_, and his hand _never _shakes, and Steve’s soft and warm over him, breaths gusting over his throat, and there’s a bite, a bite he won’t look at,

And Steve slides his fingers through Billy’s curls, says,

“I _love you,_

Always _gonna_ love you,

Even when I’m not here,” and,

_If I ever get bit, Hargrove -_

_Yeah, yeah -_

_Promise me -_

And,

_Please,_

_Mama,_

_Came to the sea,_

_Said it could fix any-fuckin’-thing,_

_Let it be this,_

_Let one thing be right,_

_Let him live,_

_Mama,_

_Please,_

And,

_“I can’t,_”

And it comes out like the _bullet_ woulda, comes out like shrapnel across Billy’s tongue, _and Billy_ \- Billy hasn’t cried like this since his _mama_ fucking_ died,_ left him with the _beast _of his dad, and _he’s -_ he’s literally_ falling apart_, as his hand shakes, as the gun _trembles_, as he _snarls,_

“I can’t, _Steve,_ Stevie, I _can’t_, baby, _I can’t _-”

“Shh, it’s _okay,_” and Steve’s falling apart, too, falling apart as he slides a hand down to Billy’s wrist, fingertips splaying over the gun, and Billy drops it at his gentle command, drops the gun instead of putting it to his _own goddamn temple_, and,

He curls his weak arms around Steve, _holds, _holds on, as he presses his face into Steve’s hair and frames him with his shaking, quivering body, as he sobs fierce and furious against him, as he hates, hates the goddamn world with everything left in his stupid, fractured soul,

And Steve’s holding on just as tight, kisses up Billy’s cheek, noses over his ear, says,

“It’s okay, _it’s _\- it’s _okay_, Billy, just, _breathe, _baby, breathe, I got you,”

And Billy had failed him back in the _fucking supermarket,_ was too _slow,_ too _weak_, too - _fucking stupid_, and now Billy’s failed him _again_, and Steve’s kissing over his face with dry, quivering lips, is shushing him softly as his tears drip over Billy’s cheeks, _and,_

_“Steve -”_

“It’s _okay,”_ Steve says in Billy’s ear, “it’s okay, I know, _I know_,” and,

Steve doesn’t reach for the gun, and Billy doesn’t know _why_, doesn’t know why he’s willing to face the onslaught of the _change_, of the death that takes a sharp turn into _something different_ at the end, _but he _\- he _doesn’t _reach for the gun, and Billy can’t let him go,_ and,_

_Not him,_

_Please, _

_Fuck,_

_I’ll live on my knees the rest of my stupid life,_

_I’ll die,_

_Whatever it takes,_

_Just,_

_Please,_

_Mama,_

_I’m here,_

_At the sea,_

_Always said –_

_You always said -_

And Billy gathers Steve up as silent pleas rip through his fractured soul, sits up on the white sofa with Steve between his legs, bundled up against his chest, and Steve tangles his fingers through the golden chain around Billy’s neck, presses his sticky forehead to Billy’s pulse, and,

_Anything, I’ll give anything,_

The sky’s burning orange by the time the fever truly comes, and Steve’s leaking sweat, dripping, and his skin’s _so fucking pale_, and his eyes are red, and he’s panting like a rabid dog, writhing a little with the change, and Billy won’t let him go, _can’t,_

_Everything,_

_I’ll burn the world,_

_I’ll save it,_

_Whatever it takes,_

And the sea crashes against the shore, crashes into Billy’s heart, _charges _through it,

_Not like this,_

And Billy’s gonna let Steve _devour_ him, he thinks, because _he can’t_ \- can’t let him _go,_

So he _doesn’t,_

And Steve’s startin’ to _burn_ now,

Is startin’ to _shiver_, no matter _how tight_ Billy holds him,

And Billy’s never felt an agony as fine as this, not in his life, not when the world turned red, not when they found a bloody baby bassinet on the side of the road next to a biter with blood on her chin,

Not when they watched Hawkins burn,

Not when they went starvin’ for a week and thought they might just, become _mince-meat_ on the side of the damn road,

He’s never felt _anythin’_ like this,

Not in his _life_,

And he’s so angry, and it’s – it’s a _new,_ foreign kinda angry,

That _God-cursin’_,

_Villain-makin’_ kinda shit,

But Steve deserves – deserves_ any_ gentleness left inside his iron-rough bones,

So Billy holds him so tight,

Cards his fingers through his hair,

Murmurs,

“I _hated_ you when we first met, Bambi,”

And,

Steve chokes on a laugh as his body strains, as he shoves his face against Billy’s tight throat,

As he rasps, “yeah, figured as much, seein’ as you put a fist through my face like, the next _week_,” and,

Billy huffs, huffs and ghosts his lips over Steve’s brow, his sticky, fever-strapped brow,

“Saved your ass after that, though,” Billy says, arching a brow, and Steve hums, splays his hands over Billy’s ribs and curls up closer,_ impossibly_ closer,

“Think that hate was _love_, Cherry-bomb,” Billy says then, faint, vague, _distant,_ as he watches the unchanging, unaffected sea dance over the sand outside their tomb, “you scared the _shit_ outta me,”

And,

“We’re some kinda stupid, tiger,” Steve whispers, and,

Billy shuts his eyes,

Feels as if he’s been scooped hollow,

As he thinks,

_Please,_

_Just one more second chance,_

_Mama,_

_Please,_

And,

They fall silent, _silent_, until;

“Don’t wanna go,” Steve manages to choke out, and the sky outside is _grey_, grey, and they have _six hours left,_ and Steve is_ shaking_, shaking like his skeleton is tryina climb outta his goddamn skin, “don’t wanna _leave you_, don’t wanna _go_, baby, I _can’t -”_

_Please, _

_Fuck, _

_Just,_

_I’ll do anything,_

“I know,” and it’s rough, hoarse, crawls outta Billy like somethin’ outta Hell; “I _know,_ Bambi, I know,_ I love you_, it’s _okay_, I’ll find you on the other side,_ always_ gonna find you,”

But,

_“Don’t_, Billy, please,” and Steve’s_ sobbing_ again, _properly_ sobbing as he writhes in Billy’s lap, as he tangles desperate fingers in his hair, as his honey-gold eyes, ringed in yellow, scrape over Billy’s face, and it_ hurts_, hurts like a razor to raw skin, “don’t - don’t _hurt yourself_, please, if you fucking _love me at all_, just - keep going,_ please,”_

And it’s, 

It’s like being _ripped_ apart, ‘cause they both know what Billy can’t do, and what he can’t do is face this without Steve, who he killed, ‘cause he thought the supermarket looked so safe,

But,

“Okay, Bambi, okay,”

And,

“I _hate _you,”

And,

“I _know,”_

And,

“Kiss me, _fuck_, don’t stop, please,”

So Billy does, as –

_Please,_

_Let me find him again,_

_When we,_

_When -_

_Please,_

_If nothing else,_

_Let me find him,_

And there’s _nothing _like this, no pain in the _world_ like this, and Billy feels as if something from the _Upside-Down_ is growing _deep_ in his gut, waiting to rip him to shreds from the inside-out as Billy feeds Steve the air in his lungs, and Steve _tastes_ like the _Upside-Down,_ tastes cold, tastes half-dead, and,

_Anything,_

_Everything,_

_He’s everything,_

_Only light I got, only light I ever fuckin’ had,_

_Please,_

_Mama,_

_If you’re out there, _

_Please,_

And then,

There’s a soft hour where Steve just, pants against Billy’s throat, _right _where his teeth will rip to get to his meat, a soft hour that Billy spends memorizing Steve’s heartbeat and the sound of the sea,

And he finds himself thinking about his mama, thinking about the way she loved the ocean so fucking much, always said it could fix _anything,_ about how his mama would’a loved Steve Harrington, with his honey-gold eyes and laugh like the way the sea looked under sunlight, and,

Billy thinks about his mama as he cradles the thing he killed in his arms, as he rocks Steve’s trembling body, and Billy starts to sing, sings the lullabies his mama did, after they’d come back from their brief escapes to the ocean,

_And,_

This miraculous house is their _tomb_,

A tomb,

Right,

_Right_ by the unchanging sea,

The sea that’ll be the same as it was before the tragedy of Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington,

And,

_Please,_

_Mama,_

And Billy cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, croons and presses his lips to his forehead, and he whispers his name like a hymn, and Steve’s hand is clenched tight,_ tight _around the golden pendant on Billy’s chest,

_“Always_ gonna be here, Bambi,” Billy tells him, rocking back and forth, so gentle, and it’s all he’s got left, is the gentleness ripped outta brutal bones all for one Steve Harrington; “always gonna be with you,”

_Mama,_

_If you’re listening,_

_Please,_

And then the soft, dusk-lit hour passes, and Steve is _writhing _again, whimpering, and Billy clutches his head against his chest, tears like stars on his cheeks, and he looks out to the sea, _unchanging,_ endless, and,

“_Billy,”_ Steve groans, voice _all_ Upside-Down, and Billy clenches his jaw, shuts his eyes, burns with _love,_ with a hatred so_ feral_ he thinks he might be the one about to change, “Billy, _Billy,_ Billy,” and,

“_Please_,” Billy whispers aloud, and Steve’s hand clutches the medallion as his body undulates and a biting hiss presses out between his teeth, “_please_, mama,” and,

“If you’re listening,

If you _remember _me,”

And,

“_Billy,”_ Steve whines, “_no, no, no –“_

And,

“_Anything,_ I’ll give _anything,_ do _anything,”_ and,

“Came right to the sea, mama, always said -,” and,

_“Not him,_ please, mama, if you’re_ listening_ –“

And,

There’s a soft sigh, like the way the leaves sing in the summer wind,

The scent of lilac,

Of seawater,

Of springtime,

And Billy’s chest unfurls with something _new_ as a voice echoes through his skull, comin’ from _everywhere_ and _nowhere _all at once,

_I’m listening, baby,_

And,

Steve _lurches_ violently in Billy’s arms, against ‘em, and then he _growls,_ growls like a feral thing, but the sound is so - so _achingly human,_ and Billy’s heart jumps into his throat and then Steve is shoving at him, goes tumbling off’a the couch, and Billy thinks he shouts his name, thinks he must, ‘cause his throat tastes like copper,

_And then -_

Black vomit hits the pristine floor, and Steve’s _so fucking pale_, is shaking as black ichor drips from his lips, and there’s a_ bite_, one Billy_ hasn’t_ looked at yet, but now he _does, _

_And,_

_“Stevie,”_ he breathes, and it sounds like a _hymnal,_ and _it is,_

Because,

The _bite -_

It’s _not,_

Not _there,_

And Steve vomits up black ichor, spits out a curse on a _sob_, and Billy kicks himself, surges forwards across the oakwood floor to fall to his knees beside Steve; he slides a hand over Steve’s heaving spine, and his _skin _\- his skin is _cool,_ cool to the touch, and despite the fact that he’s still bleeding sweat, the _bite _\- it’s just a _scar_, a little ring of white raised skin under the rusty red of Steve’s blood,

And Billy’s heart is going _so fucking fast_, and,

The sea is unchanging outside the house that was their tomb, and Billy smells seawater and springtime and lilacs, _and,_

Steve ducks his head, spits out grey bile, and he just - _breathes,_ breathes, and his skin is pale, but it’s not _corpse-pale_, and the bite is _healed,_ healed right over, like some kinda magic, and Steve sways, and Billy catches him, pulls him _right _to his chest, sweeps his hand over Steve’s brow to push his hair back, gentle, _gentle,_

_“Stevie_,” Billy pleads, and they must look like some kinda holy painting kept behind velvet rope like this, Billy holdin’ Steve’s limp body like he’s a broken, divine little thing he’s pulled down from a goddamn _cross;_ “look at me, baby, lemme see those eyes, know I love those eyes_, c’mon,”_ and,

_And -_

And his eyes are _bright_ when they flicker open, when they rove over Billy’s face; they’re bright and _honey-gold,_ not puce-green, not _bloodshot_ or weeping grey tears, and his cheeks are cherry-pink, cherry-pink as he bleeds sweat from the breakin’ of the fever that gripped him, and,

Billy lets out a grating, bitin’ kinda groan, cups Steve’s cherry-pink cheek and sweeps ichor off’a his chin with a thumb, and his heart’s up and left and his lungs burn and Steve’s eyes are so bright, so fucking bright, and he’s some kinda holy, this beautiful little thing, this thing that must look like he’s just come down from the damn cross, draped fine and feverless over Billy’s legs,

And,

“I’m so _tired_, Billy,” Steve murmurs, and his chest - his chest is _pink,_ and his skin is _cool _and the bite is _fucking healed over,_

And Steve says, I’m so tired, and the laugh Billy lets out is more of a sob, even as some kinda newborn hope rears its shy, tentative head in his gut, and Billy strokes over Steve’s hair, holds him like he’s a divine little thing he’s pulled off the cross,

Says,

“Yeah, Bambi, I’ll just fuckin’ bet you are,”

And they sit there, next to the pool of black goo that came outta Steve’s body, in the pristine house by the sea, and Billy keeps Steve right against his heart, a hand sliding now over the little scars on the juncture of his throat, and they don’t talk, and _Steve - _

Steve _falls asleep_, and,

The sky goes dark, and,

His skin is cool,_ dry_, and the bite is_ gone_, and,

It’s been almost twenty-seven hours,

As the ocean surges up onto the shore, a stone’s throw from the little house that was gonna be their tomb,

_And,_

“I know you’re here, mama,” Billy whispers, as Steve sleeps in his arms like he hasn’t just gotten pumped fulla the virus that ripped the world apart, and Billy keeps his gaze on Steve’s face as he says, “always knew you were some kinda _different,_ weren’t you?” and,

A soft,_ achingly_ familiar laugh echoes through his skull, and Billy shuts his eyes as a ghost of a hand brushes over his head, and Billy shuts his stingin’ eyes, puts his lips to Steve’s brow, the holy little thing that the Upside-Down tried to_ crucify_, and,

He smells_ lilacs_, springtime,_ seawater_, blood, heat,

_Steve,_

And Billy lifts him up from the floor, lays him down on the sofa and covers him up with the blanket, the brutally soft blanket, and Steve’s face is_ peaceful_, cheeks cherry-pink, and Billy pulls on his jeans, sinks down to his knees beside the couch, brushes Steve’s hair back from his brow,

Slides the pad of his thumb over the healed mark on Steve’s throat, and Billy’s own _so fucking tight_, and he can still feel the achingly familiar presence that sweeps through the little house, the one that seemed so miraculous, so fucking miraculous in the hardened warscape of the tattered new world, the one Billy thought was gonna be their _tomb_,

But,

The sun comes up, dawns on another day for one Steve Harrington, for one Billy Hargrove, and,

Billy doesn’t remember falling asleep, _but,_

He wakes up to gentle fingers in his hair,

Wakes up to a soft, sleep-hoarse,

“Hey, tiger,” 

And Steve’s eyes are _bright_, honey-gold, and the bite is _healed the fuck over_, and Billy chokes out Steve’s name, laughs like he’s _sobbing_, and Steve’s grin tastes like winter and stale breath but Billy kisses him like he’s trying to clamber _inside him,_ and _he doesn’t -_ Billy can't _breathe,_ 'cause he -_ he -_

He _knows,_

Knows it’s _gone, _

Whatever was gonna _crucify_ Steve Harrington is _gone_, just a black spot on the pristine floor, and _Steve is_ \- Steve is _alive_, and _he’s not_ \- he’s not a thing turned by whatever the _fuck _it was that came outta the Upside-Down,_ and,_

“Had a dream,” Steve says, as Billy slides over him, cages him to the couch, and he’s fixin’ to never let him outta this damn house ever again, the miraculous house, the house that wasn’t their tomb but their haven; “saw you on a beach - there was a, a woman with you, _she_ \- she had your _eyes,”_

And Steve curls a hand around the golden medallion as Billy’s heart tries to shove through his chest, and he slides his fingertips over the scars on Steve’s throat, smells lilacs, saltwater, and the sea crashes into the shore,

“Can fix _any fuckin’ thing_, going to the ocean,” Billy says, voice _so_ beyond lost, hoarse and rasping, and Steve’s lips ghost over his own, and his heart thunders under Billy’s palm, “that’s what my mama always said,”

“She was right,” Steve says, thumbing over Billy’s chin, and his face is _soft_, soft under the grit and the blood, and he’s _so fucking beautiful,_ and,

“_Yeah,_” Billy murmurs, lost in the depths of those bright,_ bright_ eyes, and the world’s a fucking _hellscape_, full of walking corpses, but Steve isn’t one of ‘em, and the _house_ \- the impossible,_ miracle_ of a house - keeps them, and the sea crashes, crashes,_ crashes _into the shore, and everything smells like _lilacs_, like lavender, like Steve’s heartbeat, _and -_


	2. breathe life into this feeble heart (lift this mortal veil of fear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "we have time, tiger,  
we have time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again my eyes hurt
> 
> love u
> 
> tumblr: billyhargrovens

If Steve’s being honest, he _doesn’t quite -_

Know _what to,_ to, like, _do._

And,

He’s haunting a bedroom that wasn’t his but felt more like home than anything,

And there’re pictures of the couple that used to live here on the nightstands,

Pictures Steve looks at without really seein’ ‘em as Billy works to fill the bath, ‘cause there was a water pump downstairs in the kitchen and the gas stove still worked, so Billy’s filling the bath, patiently doing so pot by potful of heated water,

And Steve’s _alive,_

And he’s got a ring of savage teeth scarring his neck,

Dried spunk on his stomach,

Blood _all _over,

And he traces the edge of a silver frame on one of the nightstands, and there’s a golden ring left abandoned beside it, a dusty glass of water,

And then there’s warmth along Steve’s spine as _strong_, golden hands slide over his waist, and Billy noses at his ear, grumbles low and soft when Steve melts back against his chest, and,

He’s _alive,_

By _some goddamn miracle,_

Had purged the Upside-Down outta his blood downstairs, staining the oakwood floors black,

And he feels,

_Feels_ the miracle,

_The fucking_ – the _magic,_

As Billy’s hands slide over his stomach, as he kisses over Steve’s shoulder,

‘Cause it’s a miracle that _Billy Hargrove_ coaxed into the world,

A miracle that _no one else _could’ve,

And Steve turns as his eyes _burn_, turns with a fire in his gut, and Billy barely has time to utter a syllable before Steve’s sealing their mouths together, heart in his throat, hands clutching at Billy’s jaw, and,

Some kinda _frenzy_ starts to rip through him as he thinks about –

The way the_ teeth_ had felt, _diggin’_ through his skin,

The way the _fear_ had_ tasted_, the way it’d _burned_ through him, the way it’d threatened to unmake him before the virus could,

The way Billy had _looked_ at him,

The way Billy had sobbed, _I can’t,_

The way Billy Hargrove had torn through reality to drag a goddamn _miracle_ into a world that didn’t know what the fuck miracles _were,_

And some kinda_ inferno_ whips to life in Steve’s gut as he plants a hand on Billy’s chest, right over that _miracle-makin’_ heart, right over the heart that Steve _swears_, swears he heard sing through his _goddamn bones,_

As Steve kisses Billy like he’s about to _lose him_, ‘cause he _almost did_, almost _left him behind,_ almost made Billy Hargrove bleed himself _dry,_ almost made him watch Steve change into _something else_, somethin’ terrible, turned all inside-out,

And he kisses Billy as the_ weight_ of it blooms like a fucking _black hole_ in his twisting gut,

Kisses him as more tears itch through his aching eyes, and he thought he’d cried himself _out,_ but _apparently fucking not,_

‘Cause he’s _bleedin’_ tears as he gasps against Billy’s tongue, and he can’t put this inferno out, can’t hold all of this, can _barely fucking hold himself upright_, but Billy catches Steve with practiced ease against his chest, catches him _so tight_, curls his tongue up under Steve’s,

And it’s;

_Aching,_

Desperate,

_Frantic,_

And it – it _hurts,_ if Steve’s being totally honest, hurts like the bite had, burns like the fever did, and the sheer weight of his desperate _panic _is turnin’ Steve Harrington into _somethin’ else anyway,_ as he pants against Billy’s wicked tongue and rolls his hips, as his bones start to crack under the devastation of his borderline inhuman need,

And Billy _growls,_ grips Steve’s hips, drags him away from the nightstand, away from the photo he hasn’t really seen, the photo of the people that once lived in the house that became the host to a fucking goddamn actual_ miracle_,

And,

“_Billy,”_ and it sounds like a _war-cry,_ even as it’s so _tight,_ so fuckin’ _quiet,_

_Sounds_ like a war-cry,

_Feels_ like one,

And Billy drags Steve around the bed, doesn’t let his tongue stray far from Steve’s teeth, even as he manages, “_yeah,_ Bambi, yeah,” _and,_

Steve thinks he’ll actually fucking_ die_ if Billy _stops touching him,_

Thinks he’ll _just,_

Turn _inside-out,_

And he sinks a shaking hand into Billy’s hair, gone gritty and rusty-red, but he knows the _exact _shade of gold that hides underneath,

And when Billy herds him into the bath, Steve refuses to let go, one desperate arm locked around his neck, hand fisted brutally in Billy’s curls, and when Billy _takes his hands off_ _of Steve_ to shove his jeans down, _Steve almost,_ almost, _just -_

But then; “it’s _alright,”_ Billy’s crooning with that grief-achin’ voice, and then he’s stepping into the bath, hips bumpin’ back into Steve’s as those hands slide over him, grip his waist with a possessive, biting grasp, and it’s some kinda _benediction_, some kinda _prayer_, some kinda _holy,_ the way Steve’s entire_ soul_ seems to cry out, cries out _all _for that touch,

_And,_

“It’s _alright_, baby, _I got you_, hold onto me, Stevie, don’t let go,” and,

“Don’t _ever_ let go, God, _fuck_ –“ and,

Then Billy’s dragging Steve into the lukewarm water, and they’re both shaking now, as Billy crowds Steve against the porcelain side of the bath and kisses him with all the force of a goddamn war-cry, and,

_“We should,”_ Steve pants_, ragged,_ tearing, _blood-stained_, as Billy’s hands sweep over him, wipe away the grit, the gore, “we should, _find the_, the _others_, get, to a r-_radio,_ oh, _God,_ Billy –“ _and,_

“Yeah,” Billy grates out, all iron, all steel, all smoke, _and then_; “shut those eyes baby, breathe in deep for me,”

And,

The hands that pulled reality apart to bring a miracle to life gentle Steve underwater, and it’s the finest, most _beautiful_ kinda baptism, the kinda shit that makes somethin’ _break _in the middle of his chest, and Billy’s fingers slide through his hair and then he’s surfacing, rising up to meet Billy’s pleading lips, jaw framed by Billy’s miracle-makin’ hands,

_And,_

Steve sinks wet hands into Billy’s curls, brings the water up over his shoulders until he sees gold, and he’s _breathing it in_, is breathing in _gold _as Billy feeds him the air from his fire-keepin’ lungs, _and,_

He’s _never_ felt a _need_ like this before,

_Never _felt like he was about to bloom outta his own skin before,

_Never_ felt like he was gonna _die_ if _he doesn’t,_ doesn’t have those _hands _on him, the hands that kept death at _bay,_

And Billy shoves Steve back against the edge of the bath, cages Steve right in place, golden arms like a fortress around him, and the way Billy _kisses him_ – it’s got him _sobbing_, got him _panting_ like a _damn animal_, got Steve growling out around aching,_ painful_ groans, and,

_They’re becoming something new_,

As,

Billy smears his mouth over Steve’s cheek,

Over his jaw,

Breathes hard and _hot _over his throat,

_Right_ over the raised mark of the scar that meant miracles could be _real_, so long as they were coaxed into the world by _one Billy Hargrove_, and,

Then Steve’s _shouting,_ is crying out, _sharp _and _harsh _and _brutal,_

Just like he had in the supermarket,

Just like he had _when –_

Desperate teeth sank into his skin,

But _this time_,

This time,

Steve cries out, ragged and furious, but he clutches so hard at Billy that he thinks they might, just, _bleed_ into one body,

As Billy’s teeth _dig_ into the scar that marks the proof of miracles,

As Billy _breaks his skin,_

As Billy breaks that miraculous scar,

The scar that’s in the shape of _some biter’s rotting teeth_,

And Billy breaks it open now,_ all_ so it’ll heal up in the shape of his_ own,_

And Steve’s crying _proper,_ is_ panting_ and_ keening_ and_ clutching_ at Billy as Billy laves his tongue over the rubies swellin’ outta Steve’s abused skin, and Steve’s so hard it _hurts,_ so hard that when Billy grips his hips and _grinds _against him, _slow_, so _slow_, Steve’s shooting strands of pearly white between ‘em, cums _barely-touched,_

And crimson runs down his heavin’ chest in little rivers, rivers that Billy follows with his tongue,

_And,_

The world is _narrowing,_

And Steve’s vision is _tunneling,_

Until _all _he knows is the way Billy’s arms _cradle him_, cradle him like he’s made of some kinda divine flesh and bone, and,

Billy cradles him like he almost_ lost_ him,

And he _had,_

So when Steve _whimpers_, “Billy, _please_,” right against Billy’s saltwater lips, Billy doesn’t waste a fuckin’ heartbeat of a moment,

Hauls Steve right outta the water with a low, _devastated_ growl,

And Steve clings _so tight_, when Billy, voice like _an open wound_, begs, “_hold onto me_, don’t you _let go_, baby, _don’t let go,”_

But,

He _couldn’t,_

Not for _shit,_

Not even if an _entire army_ of biters were swarmin’ the house,

Because _right now,_

_Nothin’ _exists,

_Nothin’,_

Outside of the way Billy _holds him_, and his arms the only real home Steve thinks he’s _ever _known, and he can’t seem to unglue his lips from Billy’s face, from his cheeks, his brow, his _savage_, bloodied mouth, the mouth hidin’ the fangs that broke the scar that marked the miracle Billy coaxed outta _nothin_’ with his _brutal _hands,

And,

“_Won’t,_ baby,_ can’t_, need you _so bad,” _

And,

Then Steve’s back hits somethin’ soft, and Billy slides over him, bloodied mouth carving a breathless trail up Steve’s waist, over his chest, his crimson-laced chest, and Billy laves his tongue over the drippin’ wounds on Steve’s throat, licks up the blood as it comes, and Steve doesn’t think he’s existing in any kinda reality he’s ever slipped into before,

‘Cause he’s felt Billy _before,_

Has felt the way he vibrates after a fight, vibrates invisible and subtle for hours after he splits his knuckles open,

Has felt the way he _radiates_ fury, a rage that’s _constant,_ just, always sittin’_ right _under his skin,

And Steve_ knows_ what Billy _feels like_, knows what it feels like when Billy grips his shoulder, when Billy grabs his wrist, when Billy slings an arm around him,

But he’s _never –_

Never felt _anything_ like this,

_Never _felt _Billy_ like this,

Like he’s _all _around him,

Like he’s existing right,_ right_ under the surface of Steve’s skin,

Like the rage that’s always simmering beneath his own,

And Steve’s loved him in aching, yearning silence for _so long,_

Knows what kinda agony_ that_ feels like,

But it’s almost as if that love, that agony, has _bent_ into itself,

Has doubled,

_Tripled,_

‘Cause he thinks if Billy stopped touching him he might _die,_

Might actually,_ just,_

Break in the kinda way not even the world ending had broken him,

And Billy _pleads_, begs, “_don’t let go,”_ and Steve _whines_, keens out his name, and then Billy’s clutching his face between shakin’ hands, is kissing Steve with diamonds clinging to his eyelashes, and Steve arches up into him, and _he can’t_ \- can’t get _enough_, can’t get _as close,_ close as he _needs,_

And this reality, the one Steve’s slipped into without knowing, is one that was forged between Billy’s miracle-makin’ hands,

And it’s the _only_ reality Steve wants to exist in,

The only one that could ever give him _any _kinda hope_, ever again_,

And Steve feels more _desperate_ than he _ever has_ when he looks up at Billy, as Billy holds his face between his brutal palms, as Billy breathes _hard_, breathes _just_ this side of too fast, and,

Billy’s lookin’ _some kinda feral_, some kinda _broken,_ blue eyes red-rimmed, nose twitching into a sneer, and he’s got blood on his chin, Steve’s blood, and Steve surges up to lick it off’a him, ‘cause even if it’s _his_, he hates, _hates _seeing Billy bloody,

And Billy _groans_, moans and ducks to slide his slick lips over Steve’s, and it’s_ messy_, messy and _sloppy,_ is barely a kiss at _all,_ as Billy’s breath grows thorns and Steve’s starts to bleed so _sweet_ for it, _and_,

Steve wraps his arms around Billy’s neck, slides his thighs up over his hips, arches up beneath him in a wave of muscle and panicked, _aching_ need, and Billy _whimpers_, laves his tongue up along the roof of Steve’s mouth,

_And,_

Steve can _barely_ recall any other word but Billy’s _goddamn name_, but _somehow, _he manages to rasp, “Billy, _please,_ baby, _need_ –“ and Billy _groans_, groans and slides an arm around Steve’s waist, gathers him up against his chest with the one fucking arm, and Steve tangles his fingers through the golden chain around his neck as Billy _just –_

_Drags_ Steve across the bed,

Cages him_ right_ at the edge,

Reaches towards the nightstand,

And he must’ve scoured the room beforehand,

‘Cause then there’s the sound of a cap popping open, and Steve can barely _breathe,_ can barely fucking _think,_ and if Billy _stopped touching him_, he’d sink _right_ into the Upside-Down, _knows_ he would,

Knows he’d _just –_

And this kinda _hunger _can’t be anything but _sacred,_

‘Cause it’s like someone’s shoved the goddamn _sun_ into Steve’s gut,

And holy_ light_ is flooding his veins as Billy slides a blessed, brutal hand between his legs,

As Billy sinks a finger into him,

As Billy puts his savage mouth to the wounds glittering like rubies in Steve’s throat,

The mark of his teeth,

The mark of the miracle that he dragged outta _nothin’,_

And Steve’s strapped with a new fever as Billy drags his tongue up the line of Steve’s throat,

As he _whines_,

As he drags his teeth over the hinge of Steve’s jaw,

_As he says,_

Tight,

_Wild,_

_Just_ this side of ruined,

“Tell me,

_Tell me,_ Bambi,

Tell me you ain’t gonna let me go,”

And,

_“Never_,” Steve all but groans, and he slides his fingers through Billy’s curls, the curls that gleam gold, as Billy licks at his lips, as Billy coaxes his tongue to rise and meet his coppery teeth, “never could let you go, _never,”_ and,

“Billy, _please,”_ and,

“Gonna _die,_ gonna die _without you,”_

And,

“Death doesn’t get to _have you_,” Billy murmurs, and _his voice is_ – it’s all _sideways_, and then Steve’s choking on a gasp when Billy’s slick, fat cock starts to breach the tight clutch of his muscle, and Steve can feel those blue eyes_ burnin’_ through him as Billy grips his waist, holds him _still_ as Billy fucks him open, makes him loose with just his cock,

And it’s _brutal,_

And it _hurts,_

And Steve’s never felt_ anything_ so fuckin’_ sweet_ in his life, hasn’t ever felt a pain _so_ fuckin’ _divine,_

And it _is _divine,

‘Cause he can feel Billy _everywhere,_ feels him down in the marrow of his _bones,_ in his throat, in his blood, and Billy slides his arms around Steve’s waist as he breathes hot and savage against Steve’s throat,

As he starts to_ fuck_ into him, _possessive_, claiming,

As he fucks into Steve with a _declaration_ written in the way his hips bruise him _so _fine,

As he starts to rearrange the _entirety _of Steve’s reality,

Until he’s the _axis,_

Until he’s _true north_,

Until he’s the _only _home Steve_ ever_ wants to know,

And Steve _never _wants to surface outta the mire of Billy’s holy ocean,

_Never _wants to breathe in anything but the _gold_ that comes outta Billy’s fire-strapped lungs,

_Never _wants to have _any _other hands on him but the miracle-makin’ ones that hold him _so tight,_

And Steve _never_ wants to bleed for any other beast but the one that fucks into him so _brutal_, so _desperate_, fucks into him with devastation _barely_ clenched between his teeth, a devastation_ barely _kept at bay, ‘cause Billy almost had to put a bullet in Steve, almost had to bleed himself _dry,_

‘Cause they’d _promised _each other,

And Billy had _known _what he had to do, if Steve _ever got bit,_

But Steve had _learned,_ learned what Billy _couldn’t_ do,

And what he’d had to do was put Steve _down_,

But what he couldn’t do was_ live _with it,

And Steve _sobs _when he thinks of it, sobs around a growl as he fists a hand into Billy’s golden curls, demands a kiss with a _sharp,_ aching, “_tiger,”_ that rips _right _outta the pit of his gut, _and_,

Billy finally lets Steve_ inhale_ as he seals their savage mouths together,

Lets Steve drink down the _gold_ that comes outta his lungs,

And Steve’s sunk so _deep_ into the mire of Billy’s holy sea,

The sea where the _miracle_ was born,

The miracle that_ pulled_ the Upside-Down _right_ outta Steve’s blood,

Replaced that_ darkness_ with an_ impossible_ light,

_And,_

“_I love you_,” Steve breathes, and his vision’s so hazy, keeps sliding in and out of focus as the tears come and drop over his temples, as they swell and clear and swell and clear, and Billy pants out a whine against Steve’s teeth,

And he’s _all animal,_ all ruins, all devastation and fear, and Steve takes it, takes all of it, as his reality rearranges and becomes centered around the supernova of Billy Hargrove’s wrecked, devoted heart,

And Steve _holds on_, just like he’d promised to, wraps himself around Billy with arms and legs,_ surrounds_ him even as Billy drags him under the churning surface of his holy waters, _and,_

Billy ducks to put his lips to the _bite _on Steve’s throat,

The bite he _ripped _open,

The bite he chewed through with his gentle, brutal teeth,

And it’s got Steve’s oversensitive cock weepin’ pearls, when he thinks about the fact that it’ll heal up in the shape of Billy’s fangs,

And it’s _savage,_

Unbearably savage,

And maybe they never would’a _been like this_, if the world hadn’t _ended,_

Maybe they’d be _gentle,_

Maybe Steve would _teach_ Billy how to be gentle,

But in _this world,_

Where the dead walked upright,

Where the Upside-Down roamed free in pockets of darkness no sunlight could drive out,

In _this _world,

Where miracles could _only_ be coaxed out of the holy sea by _one Billy Hargrove,_

Steve lets it be _savage,_

Lets it be _devastated,_

_Grief-stricken,_

_Fear-lashed,_

And he sinks through the _stormy,_ churning waters,

As Billy _surrounds _him,

_Consumes_ him,

As he holds Steve _together_ and _breaks_ him _so _sweet, _so _fine,

And maybe they’ll _learn_ to be gentle, one day,

When the nightmares of bullets goin’ through sunlit hearts and honey-gold eyes goin’ puce-green have settled,

When the fear of letting go starts to fade;

Maybe –

_Thought we had time,_

_Thought we had time to remember how to live,_

And,

_Never really figured that shit out, _

_But I’ve been figurin’ out how I wanted to die for a while now,_

And,

_“Billy,”_ and Steve can’t stop _cryin’,_ can’t stop the _hitching_, gasping, _growling_ sobs that punch out of his chest, and he _begs_, senselessly, “Billy, _Billy,_ please, _Billy,”_ without knowin’ what he’s beggin’ for, but –

“_Right here_,” Billy moans, “right here, _right here,”_ and,

_“Got you_, baby,” and,

“_Only_ devil that’s _ever _gonna ruin you is_ me_,” and,

Steve shouts his name, a searing, bruising devotional, when Billy curls a _mean_, brutal, _bloodied _hand around his cock,

As Billy pumps it in time with his cruel,_ devastating _thrusts,

And Steve’s vision _whites out_ entirely when he comes apart,

When he shoots out over Billy’s _sweet,_ savin’, _healin’_ hand,

And Billy’s licking that hand clean when Steve manages to blink through the fog,

And it sends _such_ a fire through him,

Makes a red-eyed thing unfurl in his gut,

And Steve drags Billy in to kiss _himself _off’a that savage mouth, both in blood and in proof of life, sweet as _wine_, and,

Then Billy’s emptying himself between Steve’s thighs, thrusts gone _just_ this side of soft, one huge hand splayed over Steve’s belly as Billy _moans _out a benediction against Steve’s crimson-splashed throat,

Against the proof of the _miracle _Billy Hargrove _ripped_ outta the mire of his divine ocean,

All to chase the Upside-Down outta _one Steve Harrington,_

And Steve curls into Billy as he gentles, as he rolls his hips, _just_, working his cock through the mess of his spunk, into the _heat_ of Steve’s body,

The body that’s still _all _livin’,

_All _divine light,

And,

He curls into Billy, slides possessive arms up under his, and Billy nuzzles against the bridge of Steve’s nose, drags him towards the center of the bed to cage him down _proper_, one huge hand under Steve’s head and the other splayed over his ribs, golden arm like a band of _iron _around him,

_And,_

Billy’s _vibrating_ in the way he does after a _fight,_

And Steve can _barely_ think of anythin’ outside of _Billy’s name,_

As he strokes over his back, as he meets those utterly _adoring_ blue eyes, ringed in _red,_

And Billy kisses Steve’s sore lips so _soft_, so _sweet,_

Kisses over his cheekbone,

Down his jaw,

Over his throat,

Nuzzles into the wounds he’s left,

Hushes Steve _so gently_ when he _whines,_ hips rolling, aching dick jumpin’ a bit,

And Billy’s still inside him, is just, _living_ in the heat of him, which suits Steve fine, ‘cause Billy’s the _only_ home Steve wants to know,

And,

He _can’t get enough,_

Enough of –

Sticky lips sliding over his throat,

_Of,_

Calloused, brutal hands sliding firm and possessive over Steve’s oversensitive skin,

_Of,_

“_Stevie_,” uttered right,_ right_ against his ear, a _prayer_, a _hymn_, a _plea,_ and,

Steve can’t get enough of –

“I _got you_, Bambi, so _tell me,_

Tell me you _won’t let go_,”

To which;

_“Never_,” Steve murmurs, promises, _swears,_ and Billy _groans_ like Steve’s the god that’s just blessed him with a _miracle_, even though the _only _miracle is the one _Billy Hargrove_ gentled outta the depths of his holy sea, “you’re _mine,_ tiger, never gonna leave you for the world to ruin, you’re _mine_,” and,

_Now,_

Now is when,

_Thought we had time,_

_Time to remember how to live again,_

And,

_Never really figured that shit out,_

_Been figuring out how I wanted to die,_

But,

“Never letting go,” Steve says, and he gazes through the haze clingin’ to his achin’ eyes at the yellow ceiling over the bed, the bed where they’ve become _something new,_

And,

Steve stares at the bright yellow ceiling, bright as the sun Billy Hargrove’s shoved into his heart,

And he holds Billy _so tight,_

Keeps him _so fine_ in the clutch of his body,

Surrounds him as _best_ he can,

And Billy puts his savage, healing, holy-speakin’ mouth to the bite on Steve’s throat,

As Steve breathes, _promises_, swears; “we have time, tiger,

We have _time,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs:  
dante's prayer - loreena mckennitt  
holy water - freya ridings

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
dante's prayer - loreena mckennitt  
time - hans zimmer


End file.
